


i wanna be still with you

by pinksunlight



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Canon Universe, Chwe Hansol | Vernon is Whipped, First Kiss, How is that not a tag, Idiots in Love, Idol AU, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Yearning, a quiet love, a soft love, hansol is really soft here okay, seungkwan is confused and a little sad, they have history but it's hard to see if it's good or bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:55:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23588761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinksunlight/pseuds/pinksunlight
Summary: the "we used to be something and then we weren't and now i think you want us to be something again but i'm a little lost and a lot in love and i just need to do these damn dishes so stop looking at me like that and please make this clear" fic
Relationships: Boo Seungkwan/Chwe Hansol | Vernon
Comments: 38
Kudos: 190





	i wanna be still with you

**Author's Note:**

> title from texas reznikoff by mitski

It’s the 11th of the month, which means that it’s Seungkwan’s turn to wash the dishes.

He doesn’t do them immediately, he never has. Even back in Jeju, when he’d convince his mom to rest and let him clean up for once, he’d wait until the dead hours of the night to begin – when the kitchen lights would grow softer and the air would cling to him like he was the only person left in the world. There’s just something about how the world gets coated with a thick silence so heavy at midnight that even the quietest whispers turn into loud proclamations of existence.

Soul-soothing, heart-warming, mind-easing, Seungkwan can think of so many words with dashes in between to describe how it makes him feel, that sense of utter tranquility and release from being a version of himself he’s never been truly comfortable with. It’s kind of funny, though, that he can’t think of one solid word. There’s always an empty space, a break in between that ebbs away at the grandness of the feeling. Regardless, he knows that it’s the kind of environment he needs to put himself into once in a while to reattach his head onto his body.

Cameras will tear him apart limb from limb so that no one ever has the full picture, and Seungkwan’s been in front of cameras for so long that it’s easy to forget that he _is_ a full picture. Boo Seungkwan, a boy who breaks off pieces of himself from time to time because fame requires perfection but hopes for imperfection.

If he’s ever needed time to ground himself back in reality, it’s now.

Seungkwan’s patience has been stretched far too thin in the past few weeks. So, when dinner time rolled around, he’d remained mostly quiet as he’d taken the seat farthest away from the source of his frustration. He’d quietly helped himself to the food and had listened on to the lively conversations coming from every direction with a small smile on his face, avoiding eye contact with the one person in the room who never looked away from him.

Seungkwan doesn’t know what to make of the Hansol he’s been encountering lately, because as far as he’s concerned, _that_ Hansol decided to never show himself again the minute they debuted. Maybe Seungkwan is a little bitter, but he has good reasons to be. They were edging on being something, and then, without ever talking about it, they weren’t anything at all. Seungkwan doesn’t want blurred lines now anymore than he did then.

When the members have all gone to bed and the dorm has a palpable emptiness to it, Seungkwan shuffles into the kitchen and turns the tap on, letting the warm water run over his hands for a little longer than necessary before he catches himself. It’s a habit that lingers from his trainee days, he remembers doing the same thing every night for his first few months in Seoul until Hansol had caught him and asked, in that purely curious tone of his, what he was doing.

It reminded him of his mother, Seungkwan had said in an unsteady voice, the unexpected confession washing a wave of vulnerability over him, his mother whose hands were always too warm but it was okay because Seungkwan’s hands were always a little too cold so he could hold her hand forever if he wanted to and he wanted to he really wanted to and he just missed her so much and _Hansol_ -

Hansol. He’d turned the tap off, closed the bathroom door behind him and put his arms around Seungkwan without a second thought, holding him tight even though they weren’t yet close enough to be sharing bone-crushing hugs filled with emotions words could never convey. And when Seungkwan had stopped crying, Hansol had looked at him in the same way he looks at him now and murmured in a voice that could only be heard because the room was so small and they were so close that, he was a pretty warm person too and he knew that it wasn’t the same as Seungkwan’s mom but Seungkwan could hold his hand, if he wanted to, because it had to be better than some running water, right?

And he was right, but he also wasn’t. Because in that moment, Seungkwan didn’t think he’d ever met someone quite as warm as Hansol before.

Seungkwan stares at the stream of water and smiles despite himself, letting it run over his fingers for a few seconds longer before he begins to rinse. Seungkwan misses that Hansol. Not to say that the Hansol of now is worlds apart from the Hansol of then, because he still looks at Seungkwan with that same, intimate gaze he’s reserved for just the two of them since before they debuted and he still always texts Seungkwan first when he listens to a really good song and he still sits next to Seungkwan for every meal. But Hansol keeps his distance, now, in a way that’s hard for Seungkwan to understand sometimes, because everything else he does screams that he wants to be close to him.

Hansol doesn’t hug him as often or cuddle with him as often or whisper and giggle into his ear as often or let himself get carried away in this world they’d created for themselves as often. His hands remember to find Seungkwan’s, though. Maybe not immediately, like they used to, and maybe not with the same certainty, but pinkies linked, or fingers loosely threaded together is enough. Seungkwan has learned to let it be enough. 

Which is why he can’t understand why Hansol has suddenly started toeing over this boundary they’d unconsciously created when they became real, public figures.

(They’re doing an interview and Hansol is whispering things into his ear and letting his lips leave butterfly touches across his skin as his hands drop a little lower to tighten around Seungkwan’s hips. Seungkwan passes it off in his head as an overly excited Hansol, it’s their first comeback in a while, after all.

Hansol is sitting in a chair in their hotel room facing the window that stretches from the ceiling to the floor and he tugs Seungkwan into his lap as he’s walking by, convincing him that the view of the city at night shouldn’t be missed for an exhausting hour spent at the gym. They stay like that for longer than most would and Seungkwan chalks it up to Hansol feeling a little lonely.

They’re at the dorm and Seungkwan can feel Hansol watching him laugh at something Soonyoung says but he never expects for Hansol to lean over in front of everyone and place a light kiss on his cheek. The members erupt into laughter as Seungkwan goes red and looks everywhere but at Hansol, who’s already getting up with a small smile on his face and moving to his room.

Seungkwan doesn’t know if he has any more excuses left in him.)

A spoon slips out of his hand and hits the sink with a clang, loud and clear. Seungkwan starts and stares fuzzily at the pile of dishes in front of him for a moment before pulling himself out of his thoughts and focusing. A quick glance at the clock reveals that it’s nearly 1 AM. He should finish up and get some sleep. Then, right when he finishes rinsing the last bowl, he hears someone softly pad into the kitchen from behind him. From the way his footsteps fall, Seungkwan knows it’s Hansol. He’s not nervous, but something flutters inside of his stomach anyways.

He grabs the sponge and pours some soap onto it, turning to look at the boy as he does so.

“Did I wake you?”

Hansol’s hair is in soft, messy curls and he’s wearing a shirt that makes him look smaller than he actually is. His hands are placed comfortably into the pockets of his sweatpants as he leans against the counter and when Seungkwan meets his eyes, they don’t look bleary in the slightest. It’s a little surprising, to see them so sharp and alert.

He shakes his head no but doesn’t say anything, and Seungkwan doesn’t ask, turning back to the task at hand. He can feel Hansol’s eyes on him. Even though it’s a familiar situation, he always finds himself a little unsure under his gaze. Unsure of how to move, what to say, how to feel. It’s not uncomfortable, it could never be uncomfortable as long as it was the two of them, but Seungkwan’s a classic overthinker. He wishes he could read minds.

He’s halfway through the dishes when he speaks.

“I was just thinking about you,” Seungkwan murmurs, concentrating on scrubbing the burnt parts on the pan. It’s like they’re in a different world, from the way his words only seem to exist for Hansol, to travel to his ears and coat his brain with _Seungkwan, Seungkwan, Seungkwan_. He doesn’t mean to say it like that, like it’s a secret. But that’s the way it comes out, and he keeps looking at the pan. He thinks of how Hansol hasn’t said anything to him about being pushed away at dinner, but then again, patience has always been one of Hansol’s strengths.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

Seungkwan hums in understanding.

“Maybe it’s because you were thinking about me.”

And at any other time of day, in any other place, Seungkwan would laugh like it was a joke and he’d hit Hansol on the shoulder and ask him where he learned such a cheesy pick up line. But it’s the dead of the night and the kitchen lights have grown softer and the air clings to the two of them and Hansol’s hands in his have felt so much hotter than they used to these days, so Seungkwan falters as he scrubs and says in a small voice, “Oh.”

“Seungkwan,” Hansol keeps his distance, but the way he says his name will always feel like they’re a hair’s width apart. He seems to want to say something, based on the way he’s breathing, but then he doesn’t, so Seungkwan keeps scrubbing and scrubbing and scrubbing and then, a request he hasn’t heard in years:

“Can you sing something for me?”

Seungkwan had missed his mother’s warmth, so Hansol had held his hand. Hansol had missed his mother’s voice, so Seungkwan had sung him to sleep.

He remembers hearing a voice some nights when he couldn’t fall asleep and one time, his curiosity had gotten the better of him and had led him to a curled up Hansol sleeping on his bed with headphones in, whispering the lyrics to whatever song he was listening to with his eyebrows scrunched in concentration.

When Seungkwan had poked his cheek to make him open his eyes, they were a little panicked at having been found.

He knows it’s a little embarrassing, but his mother used to sing him to sleep when he still lived at home, Hansol had explained without once looking at Seungkwan as they sat criss-crossed on his bed, knees touching, he’d always meant to stop but he just couldn’t break the habit and now no matter how hard he tries he really can’t sing himself to sleep because that would be impossible and he wishes, just for one night, to have his mother by his side because-

And then Seungkwan had pushed him back down in the bed, sidled up next to him, and started singing in the quietest of voices right into his ear. Sweet and mellifluous, music that sounded like honey and home. He didn’t stop until he saw a tear roll down the side of Hansol’s face, gratitude evident despite his lack of words. Seungkwan had paused, just for a moment, and had held his hand to say something that would bind them together from that moment on, and then he kept singing.

_(“Your hands with me, and my voice with you. Forever.”)_

Seungkwan finishes scrubbing everything and puts the sponge away, turning on the tap. He parts his lips, takes in a breath, and sings.

Hansol shifts to press his back against the counter and it’s like Seungkwan can feel him peeling back layers upon layers of himself because something in the air changes and suddenly there’s a lot less weight to the way the lyrics spill out of his mouth because he knows they’ll reach this Hansol. This Hansol is open and unafraid, almost to a fault, but Seungkwan likes him most like this. It’s like they’re kids again and Seungkwan remembers, a little bittersweet, that there was always something so delicate and real about the Hansol and Seungkwan of back then.

When he finishes singing, he’s done the dishes. He rinses his hands and turns to looks at Hansol, thinking that he’s probably fighting back sleep.

But Hansol is looking right at him.

It’s intimate, in a way that makes the members look away quite frequently, Seungkwan’s noticed. His gaze is affectionate and tender and makes Seungkwan want to cry a lot of the times because Hansol looks at him like he’d never stop if no one ever pulled him away, like he’s promising forever. He always gets this tiny smile on his face that’s a muscle movement away from becoming a flat line, but it feels so fond and secretive, like Hansol’s risking something big by letting it appear, that Seungkwan’s absolutely taken every time he sees it.

And this is why Seungkwan can’t do whatever this is. He can’t do secrets and playful teasing, lingering touches and yearning gazes – because it’s not enough, as much as he’s tried to convince himself that it is, it’s not. He would’ve been fine if things had remained the same way they’d been for the past few years, but then Hansol started to do all those things he only dared to do in the dark when they were trainees, when they were kids, and his heart couldn’t take it. Can’t take it.

Hansol is always on the precipice, a foot away from falling, but Seungkwan can’t see him ever taking that final step.

“Stop… looking at me like that,” Seungkwan mumbles, letting his eyes flit over Hansol’s face uncertainly. “It’s so-”

“I’m in love with you.”

It’s like the air has been sucked out of the room and everything seems to freeze. Seungkwan almost wants to hold his breath.

Hansol’s words are quiet, but they’re sincere. His gaze grows even fonder, if that’s possible, and Seungkwan doesn’t know what to say. He feels like he’s swallowed a beating heart, from the way his pulse is pounding. He instinctively takes a step back when Hansol moves a little closer to him.

“And I’m sorry,” Hansol says gently, taking Seungkwan’s hands into his own like they’re made of crystal, “but I really don’t want to have to give you the novel-length explanation that I know you’re looking for right now.”

He kisses Seungkwan’s knuckles and places one hand on the small of Seungkwan’s back, and it’s such a careful gesture that Seungkwan gets the urge to cry, but he doesn’t quite understand why.

“Seungkwan,” Hansol breathes out, his eyes never once breaking contact with Seungkwan’s, “can I kiss you?”

Seungkwan thinks back to everything Hansol’s done in the past few weeks, all the things that he’s brushed off as friendly gestures or mistakes or light teasing that would never lead to something more serious and he realizes that for all the grief he gives Hansol for being too oblivious, he’s kind of, sort of, definitely worse.

Seungkwan closes his eyes and gets rid of the few inches between their lips. It’s nothing like what movies and books tell you first kisses are supposed to be like – fast, desperate, hot and heavy. There’s supposed to be some sort of tension that builds up and gets released all at once when they kiss, Seungkwan thinks. His lips should barely be able to keep up with Hansol’s and their hands should be tangled in each other’s hair, they should have no regards for anything around them and something should fall off the counter because Hansol was too eager or Seungkwan was too eager and they knocked something over in their haste to be closer to each other, there should be more urgency.

But, as Hansol’s lips slowly move against Seungkwan’s (delicate and hesitant, more breath than touch) and his fingers smooth over Seungkwan’s knuckles (gentle and loving, as if he’s making sure Seungkwan won’t run away) and the hand on Seungkwan’s back applies the slightest bit of pressure to move the two of them closer together (so slight, it might’ve gone unnoticed if Seungkwan wasn’t so tuned in to every one of Hansol’s movements), Seungkwan thinks that he doesn’t really want the kind of first kiss they show in movies and books, anyways.

Hansol’s lips stop moving but he doesn’t pull away, staying impossibly close to Seungkwan as he opens his eyes to look into Seungkwan’s. Seungkwan feels his heart beat a little faster and it’s kind of absurd, because he wasn’t this affected when they were kissing. Hansol presses his forehead against his without looking away and presses another fleeting kiss to his lips before he whispers, “My hands with you.”

Seungkwan doesn’t even think before responding, just as quietly. “My voice with you.”

“Forever?”

There’s still a lot to be said, Seungkwan has about a million questions, but that’s not really important right now because he knows Hansol will answer every single one of them with the same patience he’s always shown Seungkwan. What’s important right now is them, standing underneath the dim kitchen lights with nearly every part of their bodies touching, Hansol looking at Seungkwan like he’s everything, everything, _everything_.

Seungkwan places his hands on Hansol’s cheeks and smiles.

“Forever.”

**Author's Note:**

> [twt](https://twitter.com/punksunlight)


End file.
